


Everyone Can Be A Hero | Fandoms Under Quarantine In May

by fangurks



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Gravity Falls, Merlin (TV), Miraculous Ladybug, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Corona Virus - Freeform, Crack, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quarantine, Redemption, Virus, i am bored please send help, the 28th march started four minutes ago and i am starting to write this now, there will also be a bit of, these are all stand-alones, these will be very short i am sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23350852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangurks/pseuds/fangurks
Summary: In times like these, we all have to do our part to be a hero.(Unless you're Ned Leeds.)These are just a bunch of unrelated Oneshots about how heroes fare in quarantine.There's a list of which day will be about what fandom on the first chapter.Hope you enjoy, and stay heroic!(Because I ducked up my time schedule, I'm moving this project into the next month, whoops.)
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Christine Canigula & Jeremy Heere, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Jeremy Heere & Michael Mell, Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Not Getting Stoned In My Basement | Michael Mell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shippingismylife321](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippingismylife321/gifts).



> **Spider-Man chapters:**  
>  2, 7, 13, 19,25  
>  **Merlin chapters:**  
>  4, 8, 14, 20, 26  
>  **Be More Chill Chapters:**  
>  1, 9, 15, 21, 27  
>  **Miraculous Ladybug Chapters:**  
>  3, 10, 16, 22, 28  
>  **Gravity Falls chapters:**  
>  5, 11, 17, 23, 29  
>  **Carry On chapters:**  
>  6, 12, 18, 24
> 
> My lovely Beta reader (go check out her account): @shippingismylife321

Michael Mell didn't particularly need to be a hero.

Don't get him wrong! He would never decline the chance if offered. But he also didn't feel the need to go out of his way to be a hero. He was there for his friends, for his family and basically for the people he liked, and for these people he would do everything. Sneak into a party in a ridiculous (but also very clever, mind you) costume to warn his best friend? Fine. Destroy an evil wintergreen tic tac that is hellbent on destroying human civilization and most importantly, his friend? Done. For him, that was enough. These were his priorities. There was no time for random strangers all over the world. He was just another normal teenager, right?

A teenager that uses most of his time in quarantine to play old-school videogames, to sleep in or to get stoned in his basement. And since his moms still had work to do, he had plenty of opportunity for all these things (mainly the weed though. His parents knew he owned some, but they didn't necessarily approve).

And honestly, the first two weeks were great. Yes, maybe he should've done more work for school. And yes, maybe he should've gotten less high. But a dude has got to hang loose once in a while, right?  
At least that's what Michael thought. For fourteen days.   
Fourteen days of calling his best friend Jeremy. Fourteen days of plotting with online acquaintances. Fourteen days of doing absolutely nothing productive.

"Jeremiah Heere, come here! I am absolutely bored out of my mind! If I don't get to talk to another human being face-to-face in the next thirty minutes, I _swear_ I am going to turn to dust right on the spot!"

There was only a slight chuckle as response. Michael furrowed his brow at his smartphone, feeling very offended, _thank you very much._ But before he was able to express his utter betrayal, Jeremy butted in, sounding at least slightly sorry for his following words: "Sorry dude. Dad left my room, like, five minutes before you called. I'm officially under quarantine now, which means I'm not even allowed to come over."

Michael’s eyes widened as his mouth gaped open.

"Dude! What? No! What am I supposed to do without you? You're, like... like... my anchor to reality or some shit!"

"Dude. That's super gay."

"Dude. I am super gay."

* * *

Of course, they kept talking via voice calls and Skype and everything else that's available for 16-year-old teenagers in New Jersey. But for Michael, it just... wasn't the same. He needed his weekly amount of shoving and bumping and cuddling. 

("There's nothing wrong with a dude being cuddly!"

"I didn't say there was! I'm just asking you to please get off me, _getoffmegetoffmeiamsuffocating!"_ ) 

It wasn't until four days later, that the situation escalated. No big surprises here, Michael is nothing if not a Drama Queen. And it really was a hell of a drama when the internet connection failed him. (Personally attacked him, even.)  
Naturally, the moment his parents left for work ("And remember: No going out, kiddo. Keep in mind that this virus can be lethal for some people, even if we're not one of them.") - he took off. Pulled his favorite hoodie over, grabbed his car keys and vanished out of the hell that was an isolated-from-humanity house.   
His plans were clear: Get some new weed from his guy, drive over to Jeremy and then successfully sneak out.

To his utter dismay, the first part of his plan failed, since his weed guy refused to leave the house. Michael only rolled his eyes but had to give him the benefit of the doubt. Who knows, maybe that guy lives with his grandma. Whatever.

So instead of the "fun stuff" Michael decided to drive into the grocery store. Get some snacks and drinks to chill. And that's what he did.  
It was at the aisle for the Mountain Dew (the production of Mountain Dew Red had started again, and even though they would never admit to it aloud, both Michael and Jeremy felt a little safer drinking some once in a while), then he heard a phone ring.

For a split moment, he was worried that it was his phone, before realizing it didn't sound anything like his ring tone. Instead, the sound came from the woman beside him, blocking the soft drinks. While she picked up her phone and _just kept standing there_ , Michael felt it would be weird standing around uselessly, so he pretended to be looking at whatever was before him. Vinegar, huh?

"I... sorry, I need to... sorry."

Michael tried to get a glimpse of the woman and saw her shaking. She was suddenly very pale, and a part of the 16-year-old wanted to ask her what's wrong, but she already started dialing a new number, clutching the phone to her ear until someone presumably picked up. "Liam- Liam, he- he had the virus, but, now he-", and she started sobbing, right there. Michael was more than concerned and took a careful step into her direction. From her reaction, he could guess very well what had happened.

Before he could say or do anything, someone else stepped up from the other side of the woman, carefully putting a hand on her shoulder. "Everything okay, Ma'am?" Michael secretly supposed it was a stupid question to ask, but he was glad that an adult took over the task of getting the stranger to safety.

Before he knew it, he was standing alone in the aisle, with a handful of snacks and a discarded shopping cart. His stomach churned. He felt sick. Upon looking at the goods in his hand, he swiftly abandoned the multiple bags and left the grocery store to his car. A few moments passed in which he just gripped tightly onto the steering wheel. Breath in. Breath out. In. Out.  
Somehow - everything passed by in a blur - he found himself in front of Jeremy's house. But something tugged on his insides, prickling, itching, telling him firmly _no_. His foot found the pedal, and he turned the car, starting his journey home. Upon arriving, he immediately went to wash his hands - what did they say on Instagram? 30 seconds? - and to be sure, used some disinfection spray. The internet was still dead, but Michael couldn't bring himself to care. He went straight to his bedroom, grabbing some cloth, needles, and threads.

About three hours later he held the result in his hands. Yeah, it wasn't the most beautiful or even the most accurate patch he ever made, but it was probably one of his most important ones. There, on a blue and violet square, were the words "Stay home, stay safe" sewn in, with a little symbol that he had seen coursing through Instagram, a small house roof in a heart. With a few more stitches, the patch became a part of Michael's favorite hoodie, resting peacefully on its hem.

There would be times in which he would still get bored as hell, and this wouldn't be the last time in which his Wifi connection died. And he or his loved ones may not be in any actual danger, but others were. His actions could potentially destroy other people's lives.

So yeah, Michael Mell didn't particularly need to be a hero.  
But he did his best to be one anyway.


	2. The 3 Step Guide For Becoming A Hero | Ned Leeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step 1: Try to follow your goal of becoming a hero.  
> Step 2: Fail.  
> Step 3: Hack Stark Industries, destroy people's lives and become a supervillain.
> 
> Get 15% off on capes and animal-centric costumes with the code: IAmBored666.  
> Now, on villainy4newsies.com!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's crack. Sorry.

Ned Leeds always wanted to be a hero.

For as long as he could remember, superheroes were a part of his life. Be it the Avengers, vigilantes with superpowers that were whispered about, or his best friend (who technically belonged to the last category as well, but it was  _ Peter _ , Ned reasoned, so it was different. Definitely). And he wouldn't want it any other way, honestly. Because these were people who he could look up to. People who protected him and his loved ones. People who were  _ freaking awesome! _

But even superheroes apparently couldn't stop a pandemic from spreading. In times like these, no superpower would save the day (though Ned would debate that no one could know that for sure), so all demands were directed at the everyday heroes. Doctors, scientists, shop assistants.   
At least Ned didn't need to go to school. That was a bonus point. He could spend his time building more LEGO sets (until he didn't have enough money for new sets), texting and video chatting with Pete (at least when he wasn't out doing his Spider-Man stuff) and lots of other super fun stuff. Like eating and sleeping.

Oh, who was Ned kidding?

He was bored out of his mind. His parents kept scolding him for being lazy, a cure for the virus wasn't expected anytime soon, and since having access to SI technology, Peter didn't need his Guy In The Chair™ anymore (it might also have to do with some of his rules about not putting others in danger, but Ned felt useless nonetheless). In conclusion: There was nothing left to do but to be feeling the dull ache of quarantine and the slim hope that this will all be over soon.

After all, Ned wasn't stupid. He wouldn't try to rebel and run outside on a whim for some superficial crap. His best friend was a superhero, for hell's sake, and even though Peter probably couldn't get the virus (radioactive and enhanced body and whatnot), he could very well pass it on to others. So yes, Ned did his best to be a good citizen, washed his hands with soap for thirty seconds each time, refrained from panic-buying anything, and only left the apartment when absolutely necessary.   
Because Ned knew: He may not have any enhanced abilities or multimillion-dollar technology, but it didn't take much to be an every-day hero. That's something he could accomplish. Something worth fighting for.

Until suddenly it wasn't.

"Holy cannoli! Pete! Did you hear the news?!"

There was grunting on the other side of the phone. Then some loud bang, probably a gunshot or whatever. Ned couldn't bring himself to care all that much, too focused on the screen in front of him, black blank letters staring back at him, sucking the spirit out of his body. Peter apparently didn't notice his friend's distress, instead too focused on whatever foe he was facing. There were multiple short shouts of "Sorry!", and "My bad!", or "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure it's not broken!", and some quips in-between.

Normally Ned would have found his friend's antics hilarious. Heck, normally he would try and fail to hide his concern or awe. But this wasn't a normal situation. This was far from it.

"Dude!", the chubby boy exclaimed, "They're canceling the next Star Wars movie!" There was a slight pause on the other side of the phone. "What?", Peter's voice meekly inquired. Satisfied with having his friend's attention, Ned continued, nodding along as if Pete could see him. "Yeah! Because of the virus, the filming will be canceled for an unknown amount of time! This is horrible!" There was an audible gasp. For a moment, Ned wondered whether the gasp came from Peter or if Spider-Man had continued the fighting. "This is nuts, dude", Peter replied, probably furrowing his brow like he always does when he's upset, "like, this is absolutely-- OH, HOLY-- Uh, hi, Green Goblin! Long time no see! Yikes, long time no smell, more like. When was the last time you showered? Do villains not care for hygiene?" The call was disrupted.

Ned gaped at his phone. It all happened in slow-motion: The crumbling of his faith and trust. The wrinkling of his nose in disgust. And the creeping realization that he's been wrong all this time: He worshipped the wrong people. Because clearly, if even his best friend was willing to hang up on him for some  _ petty crimes _ in his time of dire need, then all the other heroes surely were just as selfish.   
A snort came bubbling out of the young boy's throat, cold and bitter. Stark Industries probably already had a cure for the pandemic but was selling it secretly to the most paying people or, or to the heroes or to secret organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D. or... other people.

But when it reached an extent in which the people's favorite movie was forbidden from showing, then someone had to put a stop to it. With determination in his eyes, and his laptop opened, Ned realized: He would have to be the one. The hero. The savior.

With a crack of his knuckles, Ned began typing. It was a tiring and strenuous task but after days on days of non-stop working, he managed the impossible:

**Alpha access to Stark Industries™ accepted.**

With a sigh of relief, Ned swiped his sweaty brow (with a startled yelp, he jumped up and realized he had lost quite an amount of weight as well; he hadn't had time for mundane nuisances like eating or showering. But it was alright. He would give his life for this mission), and took a deep breath. Step One of his foolproof plan was accomplished. Of course, there was never an inkling of doubt, because honestly, Ned was a hacker pro, he already had hacked into Traitor™'s suit once, so this was merely an extensio--

"Holy shit."

Stark Industries had recreated real-life lightsabers.  _ Holy. _ _ Shit. _

"-- the release of the estimated amount of 52 killer robots yesterday evening had led to a yet unknown amount of injuries and deaths. It is confirmed that the robots were released from Stark Industries, private property of recently perished Tony Stark. CEO Pepper Pots assures that this was not an act of their company, and SI will do anything in its power to trace back and locate the original villain behind this attack, putting them behind bars. Survivors reported that the attacking machines resembled... Star Wars machinery? Uh, more news will follow soon. This is Christine Everhart, and you're watching WHiH World News."

Ned stared numbly at the TV screen. He really hadn't meant to release those robots. In his defense, Stark really could've labeled his projects more professional. No one could've expected Ned to assume that the billionaire had  _ actually _ rebuilt all the Star Wars weapons in his free time. Really, he wasn't at fault. Once more, the so-called superheroes had wronged him and every normal citizen in New York. No, in the world.   
And the teen would make sure to right their wrongs, one by one. Even if it meant being portrayed in a bad light. As a villain.   
A grin slowly spread over his face. At least now he wouldn't be bored anymore.

In the past, Ned Leeds always wanted to be a hero.   
Until he realized that being a villain was far less boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: We do not encourage people who are bored in quarantine to become supervillains hellbent on destruction and/or revenge plots for canceled movies.


	3. Back To The Beginning | Adrien Agreste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien feels like he's right back where he started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt/comfort or angst or whatever, I suppose

Adrien Agreste is a hero in every sense of the word.

Sure, he spends his free time running around the city with his beloved M'Lady and saving Paris, but in all honesty? That's not all that he is. See, to understand this, one has to separate the two people. Chat Noir is witty, flirtatious, funny, rebellious, and has basically no brain-to-mouth filter. And while Adrien Agreste would assure you any time that he shares all these characteristics with his alter-ego, he is in no position to act out on all  of his desires.

In fact, Adrien Agreste would never be connected to the clad-in-black hero that everybody loves. That really shouldn't be a problem though, since Adrien is also beloved  by many people. As a famous model, he has a fanbase and fanmail and everything a young teen could ask for. His father is rich, and so is he. And like any popular, wealthy white person, people criticize him. Some say that he does none of his work himself, only listening to his father's orders. Others say he is an arrogant brat, thinking himself to be above all  others . And then there are those, who try to be a bit more empathetic, arguing that while  _ yes _ , he is a pretentious and spoiled kid, it was the way he was raised. He can't help it.

Of course, all these assumptions were absolutely, horribly wrong.

If you met Adrien Agreste you would most likely fall for him in seconds: He is one of the kindest, most generous, most attentive people you will probably ever meet. Because when he's not out there saving people's lives, he is donating money to those in need, helping elderly people cross the street or supporting projects that he is not able to fund himself. It's always been like that.   
But there are some new aspects to his life, that the blonde just got used to. For instance, he tries to help his friends out any way he can, by listening, advising, aiding. He would forgive the cruelest girl in school, simply for believing that she has good in her. He would  be patient with the most befuddled of them all because he saw good intentions in her actions.

Having friends  and helping them made his chest swell and his pride soar into the sky. It made sitting alone at dinner a tiny bit more bearable, it made the neglect of his father a teensy bit less lonely and it would forever make his life so much more meaningful.

Until it wasn't.

Adrien knew what it felt like being alone. Being holed up in his house, alone, not allowed to go anywhere that his father did not approve of. A long time ago, he got used to this way of living. Doubt had infested his mind, making him doubt that every experience was a change for the better. After years of loneliness, he had become accustomed to it. He was - you could say - okay with it.

Needless to say, he had gotten his chance and he had felt a sort of happiness that he couldn't remember to have experienced in a long time.   
(He could. But it was always attached to the image of light blond hair. Green eyes. The kindest smile a son could ask for.)   
(So he thought it simpler to forget.)   
(He never would.)

And then the schools were being closed. Meetings were forbidden. And Adrien Agreste was, once  again , alone.

Don't get him wrong: He knew he had it better than most of his peers. His room was practically filled with possibilities of distractions. Homeschooling was nothing new to him. Heck, even as Chat Noir he had the obligation and freedom (talk about two-edged swords) to go out and fight (because if Hawk Moth didn't rest, neither would Ladybug & Chat Noir). And anyway, he should be used to being alone. It shouldn't be this hard.

(It shouldn't. It wasn't. It was.)

And then funny things started to happen. Always small observations. Walls coming closer. The air getting thinner. The temperature rising. It was getting harder to breathe, and everything was blurred. Blurred, blurred, blurred. Adrien heaved short breaths. Something small and dark swam past his field of vision, frantically trying to catch his attention. But whenever Adrien tried to focus on the small voice, trying to break through to him, another voice appeared. Louder. Nastier. Rightful.

_ You're alone. Your friends? They're gone. You're alone. So alone. _

Correct. Absolutely bloody accurate. Why would someone want to spend time with him anyway? Why had they? Did they? Maybe it was all in his head. He never went to school in the first place. Never befriended Nino, and Alya, and Marinette and-- god, he probably imagined the whole superheroing from the very beginning. Why would someone with such power  choose him to fight against Hawk Moth? Maybe it was all a trick of his brain, trying to make him seem like he was more than he is. Trying to give him a friend, someone he could love. If that's the case, Hawk Moth could as well be his father, symbolizing how Adrien felt towards him.

God. The magazines were right about him. He wasn't a hero. He was a boy without a father and a mother.

_ Oh, mother. If only you could see me. _

Only then did Adrien realize he was crying. Sobbing, having slid down alongside his wall, shaking with fear and sadness. There was also a voice. For a moment, Adrien was convinced it was the same voice that would tell him again and again, that he was and would always be - abandoned. But something didn't fit. The voice was light. Friendly. Soothing.

Adrien blinked.

His vision started to return again, and his throat felt raw. Before him, Plagg was hovering, looking for all the world like a startled cat. And he was holding something.  _ My phone, _ Adrien discovered. And it had a caller-ID flashing on the screen. Nino. Plagg had called Nino. Or had Nino called him? Adrien shook his head. It didn't matter. Carefully, with shaking fingers, he took the phone, and gave a small greeting. His best friend gave a small, relieved sigh.

"Dude. I've been calling all morning. I was worried."

Adrien Agreste is a hero in every sense of the word, but most importantly:   
He's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only imagine that voice in Adrien's head as Will Roland, whoops.


	4. Pay attention to me, I'm bored! | Arthur Pendragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all the other Oneshots are kind of about, specifically, the Corona Virus. But because of time and century reasons, I'm just going to, uh. Quickly think of something else. You'll see.

Heroism was nothing new to Arthur Pendragon.

In fact, at the modest age of 8 summers, he could've scribbled down a list with names of all the heroes he knew of. Only in Camelot, that is. Sir Geoffrey had taken the task upon himself to teach the young prince of all Camelot's former warriors and politicians (and at times, even the greatest sorcerers, but that had stopped once Arthur started bragging about it), and continuing with the kings of current reign. In addition, he had to memorize details about every person, had to manifest that knowledge into his brain. It worked.

Arthur knew that Lord Montagu had been the one to assassinate the king of his time (who was a tyrant to the kingdom) a few centuries ago, and ended up ruling instead, loved by his people. And now his great great great granddaughter - Queen Annis - continued his rule.

Or Amelia, the Countess of Derwent. She was a great friend of Uther before she died in the war. She hadn't participated, mind you, but her political scheming was the reason why hope remained after her husbands' death. Sometimes Arthur could see the ache in his father's eyes when her name was spoken. Other times, he wondered if the ache arose from her death or due to the fact that King Cendrid gained political advantage after her passing.

Politics were essential in Arthur's line of work but as a prince and leader of the knights, the greatest warriors of all time always held a special place in his heart: Like Sir Leofric, who had not only served his kingdom and its king but managed to cross the field of enemies with only a sword to his aid in the battle of Hastings, back and forth, to deliver secret messages. In all the history books of the castle, they have all one thing in common: That battle would've been lost if not for the strong and brave knight in command.

Of course, Arthur himself knew he was considered a hero to his folk as well. Admittedly, his swordsmanship was (probably) the best in all the five kingdoms, and he was the son and heir to the most powerful kings of them all: Uther Pendragon, a hero in his own right (and if there were times in which this was hard to remember, then Arthur would never tell anyone). But in the quiet, alone with his thoughts (and more often than not with his obnoxious excuse of a servant), he found himself struggling. Struggling under the weight of responsibility. Struggling under the gaze of those who looked up to him, with pride or hope or disgust. In moments like these, Arthur didn't particularly feel like a hero. Instead, he was back in his childhood, trying on his first set of armor, crying under the weight and uncomfortableness of it all.

"Oh no, I know that look. You're self-doubting yourself again, aren't you? You really are a man of extremes, Arthur. Either prancing around like you own the place, or moping because you think you're not good enough. There's a healthy little middle, maybe you should try it out once. _Sire._ "

With a roll of his eyes, the prince took one of the pillows and threw it at his servant. Merlin simply picked it up again, throwing it back - the audacity - before placing the plate that he held in his other hand on the table. His body and mind catching up again, Arthur got out of bed, bickering right back: "I am not _self-doubting_ , you idiot, I am thinking. About important business befit of a prince, nothing your little peasant mind would be able to deal with." The cook had made his favorite again. This was the fifth time in a row; she probably wanted a raise for herself or one of her recruits. "And besides, I do, in fact, own this place, _Mer_ lin."

A snort was the only response he received as if _he_ was the one making unreasonable arguments. But before he had the chance to reprimand his friend, the other started blabbering again: "Anyway, all your activities for today have been dismissed. You are to stay in your chambers as much as possible, and only leave the castle on direct orders. Uther is currently sending out guards and knights to make the announcement. Since Gaius doesn't know yet how long this will be necessary, I guess you have all the time to rest and feed that belly of yours."

Arthur's first instinct was to inquire about the tone that Merlin used to talk about his _very fit stomach_. His second instinct was to protest that he was a _prince, Merlin, he did absolutely have lots of important work to do in his chambers as well_ , but somehow what came out instead was an indignant cry of: _"What?"_ His hands stilled over his plate.

For some weeks now, there had been a sickness spreading in the kingdom. A few days ago, Gaius had declared that the sickness was of magical nature (Merlin had winced when Gaius revealed this). Uther would always be Uther, so his first order was to search the kingdom for this evil sorcerer and execute him on the spot. But Gaius had made an interesting discovery: It was a very old curse, one that was almost forgotten. Usually, it had been used to curse a place; and had too many people come close, they would've slowly fallen ill, sometimes until death took them away. As nature was even a more powerful force than pure magic, the curse would always start wearing off after quite some time. The sorcerer responsible for their situation must have extended the curse: Instead of a place, every citizen of Camelot had been infected. It was a powerful display of magic, and there was probably nothing one could do about it, nothing but to wait until it wears off. Arthur, bless his soul, was a patient person.

"This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. How long am I supposed to sit uselessly around?"

Well, most of the time he was patient. (Merlin would beg to differ.) Merlin started folding the prince's trousers, only to crumble them into the cupboard. "Gaius says it is very hard to properly assess the situation, but at worst, this can go on for months." Arthur groaned. Merlin only shrugged. "King's orders. Only a handful of knights are allowed to go out on patrol and on guard-duty." _Only those who are disposable,_ hung heavily in the air. Arthur knew this. He had personally tried to convince the king that he should be allowed to help find the sorcerer. The king had refused. Something about how we the heir and he should not be put at risk like this, and whatnot.

The only good thing about this curse was that no one dared to attack the kingdom, the fear of spreading the sickness looming over everyone's head. Life was as boring as it could be. Arthur just hoped this curse would be lifted rather sooner than later.

* * *

Two months passed, and the curse was still in place.

Arthur wanted to scream. The only people allowed near to him were Uther, Morgana, Gaius, and Merlin. Every time he wanted to train (he couldn't just _stop_ training. He was the prince, after all, protector of his realm), he had to announce it beforehand, so the field could be emptied out. Politics were a strenuous matter. If something was to be decided, it had to be passed on from councilman to king to prince to advisor to at least a handful of important other councilmen, before the king made the final decision. And that was only if they were lucky and he was satisfied with the outcome. If not, the whole process had to be restarted.

A sigh escaped the blonde's lips.

Of course, the situation wasn't... pleasant. God knows he had it better than most. With an ache in his heart, he remembered the reports lying on his table. Whereas the castle had food rations saved and servants to deliver and receive, the townspeople and the farmers had no such means. After a month of this, Gaius had started feeling unwell, and all of Camelot feared the man would be the next victim. Thankfully, it had just been a cold, but after this debacle, Uther had restricted Gaius' services to the palace only. Most things were considered 'palace only' nowadays. And that is what truly worried the young prince.

He mustn't have feared, because Uther's order had been the last straw to set his young ward in action. Arthur remembered how Morgana had stormed into his chambers that day, barely contained rage and hidden disappointment, urging Arthur to change his father's mind. After a few futile attempts, the siblings-in-all-but-blood had found means to provide the peasants with medicine and food rations. Gwen and Merlin had both helped a great deal in their plan, even though one of the royals was less willing to admit it to their servant.

Arthur was worried about Merlin. 

The black-haired boy seemed even tenser and more fragile than usual, his skin pale and his eyes bloodshot. It seemed he sleeper little, even though his workload had massively decreased since this curse took over the kingdom. Arthur had his suspicions of what Merlin was up to.  
His lack of sleep apparently didn't stop his servant from being his usual annoying self. "You really ought to go on a diet, especially at times like this. I know you and your breakfast have an intimate relationship, but aren't princes supposed to be able to live from air and sun alone or something?" Merlin had apparently got himself some of the books to read from the library if he was now referencing fairy tales.

Without deigning his servant worthy of a response, Arthur took his fork and concentrated on his food, Merlin's constant clattering and babbling a comfortable background noise. His plate was filled with his favorites again, and he couldn't help but smile.

It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure it out. He had paid the kitchen a visit once (more like, sneaked there, but he was _the prince_ , he could do whatever he wanted), thanking Mary for the food and asking if there was anything he could do to repay her generous interest. In the end, she had gotten a new storage room for the kitchen, but throughout their whole conversation, she had seemed - mildly put - slightly lost.  
After retelling his strange encounter to Morgana (and _really_ , he should have known this was a bad idea), Uther's ward had laughed wholeheartedly, which turned into an evil cackle (he wouldn't say _giggling_ , per se, that was above Morgana's standards), until she could finally take a deep breath and talk again.

"That was Merlin's doing all along, you fool."

So apparently Gwen had seen Merlin requesting certain types of food for the prince, picking out the best quality, and Gwen had told Morgana. Arthur felt himself blush at Morgana's amused expression.

"Ah."

* * *

That wasn't the only occurrence. No, quite the opposite: The more Arthur looked, the more he noticed small details in his servant's behavior. How he would put a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder when the prince would feel alone or helpless, or how he would keep his distance when Arthur would rage and feel like he didn't deserve any of the love that his people were giving him. He also noticed that where Merlin lacked skills in keeping his room clean or folding his clothes, he would make up for it by leaving flowers on the table or by putting calming scents into the bathwater.

Arthur was no fool. He knew that Merlin was a good man. (It had taken him quite some time to figure this out, but better safe than sorry, right?) He saw his bravery when he accompanied him and his knights wherever they went; he saw his loyalty when Merlin defended him in front of everyone who dared say something bad about the prince (if they were serious, that is), no matter their station; he saw his intelligence when he tricked the king and his friends into believing whatever it was he wanted them to believe; he saw his friendship when all his skills at lying suddenly vanished in Arthur's present.

But this was something else. Merlin wasn't currently trying to save Arthur's life, and neither were they on any mission. There was no mortal threat involved (at least, as long as they stayed inside and avoided human contact, so _stay in quarantine_ , for real) and all in all, this could be just a normal day for everyone involved. And with a start, Arthur realized: It actually was a normal day. Merlin did these small things for him - for his best friend - because he cared for him. It choked Arthur up, a bit.

The door flung open.

As soon as it closed again behind the lanky figure, Merlin starting rambling: "The new herbs and medicine that Gaius requested arrived today. Don't worry, I already delivered the extras to Morgana's chamber, Gwen will later carry them on to George, who will do the rest." He started smoothing the bed. "Gaius says that he thinks the curse is slowly weakening-", thank god, "-but it's still going to take some time until we can resume our normal lives again." He glanced up at the prince. "The people know what you and the Lady Morgana did for them. They are grateful, and they will remember this." A slight pause, and then: "You will be a great king, Arthur. A greater one than Uther could ever be." They both knew his words were treason. They both heard the trace of bitterness in his voice. They both chose to ignore it. Arthur rather focused on his servant's appearance. He was looking even worse than yesterday. It didn't look like he was hurt or even strained from too much work. He looked rather... exhausted.

It took Arthur a total of five seconds to make a decision.

"Merrrrrlin", he plumped himself on the bed, making his voice as whiny as possible. Merlin only glanced at him and kept working. Arthur sighed. This would be harder than he thought (thank god they were alone; this was already embarrassing enough as it was - but: Merlin deserved to be appreciated.)  
"I am bored." He could swear he heard a muffled 'Nothing new', but decided to ignore it this once. "Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. I think I will die." The bastard just smiled. "Of boredom. I need to leave these chambers, at once. I can't take it anymore." At this, the other's brow furrowed slightly. After all, Arthur was always a bit whiny, and it hadn't seemed particularly worse these past few days. Merlin voiced his thoughts: "Are you sure about that? You seemed alright to me." Now it was Arthur's turn to furrow his brow. He just wanted his stupid manservant to unwind a bit and loosen up through a ride in the forest. Why did he have to make this even more complicated?

"Are you seriously debating the truthfulness of your prince's statement in a life or death situation? You are a disgrace to my father's household."

Merlin sighed (but he kept smiling, and _oh, that idiot probably knew what Arthur was trying to do_ ), but stopped whatever servant-y thing it was that he had been doing. "Shall I get the horses ready then, Sire?" Arthur just shooed him away, but before he was out of the door, he called out his name one more time.

"I just wanted to, uh... thank you for caring."

It took Merlin a second to absorb the words, but Arthur was rewarded with that lopsided grin of his. Arthur half expected him to make fun of Arthur's manners or his soft heart, but instead, Merlin said, just as earnest as Arthur had:

"Thank you for appreciating it."

Heroism was nothing new to Arthur Pendragon.  
And if he wasn't allowed to appreciate a hero's magic just yet, then the least he could do was to appreciate a friend's deeds.


	5. To Each Their Own | Dipper & Mabel Pines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has their unique talents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, shiii- I technically only have 8 minutes left to write this chapter. Eh. You probably have a different time zone anyway, so it's probably still the 5th at your place. But wait, I have to go to sleep in 8 minutes as well. Uhhh. "Technically?"  
> (It's the next day, and this chapter made me so aggressive because my laptop crashed and deleted the beginning and I was  
> p i s s e d.)

Dipper and Mabel Pines were trying their best to be heroes.

They really were! Take Dipper as an example: Two weeks passed since quarantine started, and Dipper had been bummed at the prospect of not going on more adventures. But there was also an upside: Ford had allowed him to help out in the lab while they were both trying to find a cure, and Dipper felt pride swell in his chest whenever he was able to point something out in Ford's equations that didn't fit, earning him a fond (and slightly nostalgic) look. Sure, the soon-to-be teen didn't get the chance to dwell too much on the amazingness of it all, but he knew this was serious, and he'd get his chance to fanboy about working with his idol after this mess was cleaned up. In the meantime, he had to live off of five hours of sleep per night (or day? It kept getting confusing when you were in a dark cellar underground) and a probably unhealthy amount of Mabel-juice. But it would be worth it.

Or take his sibling Mabel as an example: At first, she had been understandably upset about this turn of events. Summer only had a month or so left, and now all she could do was sit in the old Shack? No Candy or Brenda? No cute (vampire???) boys to seduce? She'd even prefer trying to solve some dumb nerd-riddle-adventure with her brother over this if only it was outside. As if that weren't bad enough, both Dipper and Ford were barely approachable since they took it upon themselves to solve yet another catastrophe. Naturally, Mabel expected to be able to ~~torture~~ spend time with her other Grunkle instead. But he spiraled in some sort of financial depression since the Shack had to close off business for the time being. This meant that Stan was extra-grumpy and rude, less patient, and had absolutely zero interest in doing something that did not involve money. But Mabel was not known for giving up. No. Instead, she pushed her glittery sweater-handcuffs up and started tinkering some on her own. After a week of gluing her fingers together (multiple times), getting a giant amount of papercuts and somehow ending up with a green Waddles (it was only acryl color, don't worry), she had managed to create a total amount of 200 individual cards. They were filled with compliments, motivational quotes, and cute stickers and doodles, with the goal of keeping everyone's spirits up. With a little bit of bribing on her part and the totally-freely-given help of the gnomes, her cards were scattered in every mail-box in Gravity Falls.

Suffice to say: The siblings were trying their best to help. And slowly - ever so slowly - small results were starting to show: The nerds didn't find a cure yet, but they managed to find ways to weaken or slow the virus down; they even made a special form of disinfection spray for the local hospital, which they greatly appreciated. Mabel too received some recognition: Half a week after sending out her cards, she already received some replies from various people, telling her how she lightened up their day.

Everything was sunshine, rainbows, and cake.  
Until it wasn't anymore. Because if there's one thing that the Pines family was famous for, it was this: rivalry.

As most things do, it started off fairly harmless. When the Shack shook due to some failed experiment that caused Mabel to fail in drawing a straight line, she told her brother and Grunkle off. When said girl turned up the music to a maximum for positive vibes, the males would reprimand her. It was a vicious circle, fueled by sleeplessness, lack of social interaction and sibling love.

"I swear to god, Mabel, be reasonable at least for once in your life!"

"Oh, I am being absolutely, super-duper reasonable! Because _I_ made the juice, so _I_ get to decide who can drink most of it!" The kids were glowering at each other, holding tightly unto the last remaining bottle of Mabel Juice. But Dipper only rolled his eyes, before trying to pull it once more into his direction. "Technically you didn't pay a penny for the ingredients, which means that the adults make the decision. And Grunkle Ford told _me_ to get some more of _this_ ," he nodded into the direction of the swirling dinosaurs, "so we can continue with our _very important_ work." The other brunette wasn't fazed in the slightest, instead tugging at the bottle and arguing: "Ford doesn't pay a single penny for our well-being; he's not even a legal citizen of this state! This means that Grunkle Stan gets to make the final decision, and we both know that he's definitely siding with me, so we can continue with _our_ very important work!"

It was true, Dipper mused. After the older man's initial wave of grief had passed, he had discovered the letters that Mabel had received and decided to make his niece do some extra patches or whatever, so he could sell some on the internet for lonely people. The nerd felt like pointing out that the Shack was, in fact, Ford's propriety, and he let them live here, but the twins had ~~eavesdropped~~ overheard enough fights between their Grunkles about this topic, that Dipper felt wise not to use this as an argument. Instead, he focused on the last part of his sister's sentence, and scoffed: "Are you seriously comparing your work to our work? You do realize that some stupid quotes written with neon or glitter pens won't save anybody's lives, right?"

"You didn't seem to think that when I made you one last weekend!" The teens were all but shouting now, grip tight on the bottle. Upon realizing this, Dipper squinted his eyes, taking a deep breath, before continuing much calmer: "Look, Mabel. I know you put a lot of work in those cards, but those cards won't... save anybody's life, okay? It's cute 'n all, but what Ford and I do is... essential, you understand?" Mabel's eyes stung. Even though her brother seemed to have calmed down, she felt quite the opposite. With a jerking movement of her hands, she tore the bottle from her hands, only to open it up and--

"What the-- Mabel!"

The last drops of Mabel Juice were dripping down on Dipper's hair and his shirt. Mabel slammed the bottle into his chest and turned on her heels. "Here you go, it's all yours!" She stormed up the stairs, leaving quiet cursing behind her.

* * *

The running water of the shower had stopped a few minutes ago. Mabel swiped her eyes once more before the door to their shared room opened, all the while hoping that her eyes weren't puffy or red anymore. Dipper stumbled into the room, with fresh clothing and slightly dripping her. Mabel ignored him.

Easier said than done because she felt the mattress of her bed shifting. She glanced to her left, where Dipper was sitting. The girl felt a pang of remorse at seeing the dark circles under her brother's eyes and the way his fingers were nervously scratching on his wrists, making the skin redden slightly. She was still mad, but now that she saw her brother sitting there and looking dead on his feet, some of her walls starting crumbling, and she turned expectantly to him.

"Mabel, I am... sorry. That wasn't fair to you."

There was an awkward moment of silence, but then Mabel enveloped her other half into a hug, patting his back. "It's okay, bro-bro." They lasted like that for a few more moments before parting again. God, Dipper really did look horrible. Also, his mouth was moving: "Mabel, you look horrible." The girl couldn't help but laugh at this statement, even though she knew he was right. Her limbs felt heavy and tired, her brain was mushy, and it took all her willpower to not doze off right then and there. "You too, Dip." And then they were both chuckling, and maybe the caffeine caught up to them or something because they spent the next five minutes laughing their asses off.

At some point, Mabel noticed the pack of letters on her night table, and it quickly sobered her up. She took the bundle into her hand and slid it over to Dipper, who took it questioningly. Mabel didn't give him the opportunity to inquire though since she quietly murmured: "One girl in Highschool sent me a Thank You letter for the card. She said she had been feeling horribly down and lonely for months now, but when this whole... quarantine business started, it completely took her motivation for-- everything, really. She just didn't--", her breath hitched, and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself again, "She said that my card gave her a little bit of hope. And that she felt less lonely now."

Dipper carefully hugged his sister. "I am so sorry, Mabel. If I had known, I- I wouldn't have- this-", but he was cut off. "It's okay, bro-bro. You didn't know. And I _know_ that your work is important. I bet you will save the day - together with Grunkle Ford - like you always do. You will be great." Mabel couldn't help a proud smile sneaking on her face, which got even bigger when she noticed Dipper's cheeks flushing. The boy quickly shook his head and scratched his neck. "You even more so." A slight pause. "Maybe we should take a small break. Get some sleep. Recharge, y'know?"

"Yeah. Maybe we can convince Stan and Ford to get some rest as well."

"We probably should. In their current sleep-deprived state they're fighting even more than usual. I think I heard them argue about what is considered child labor, earlier. Not sure who was accusing who though."

Mabel groaned and threw her arms theatrically in the air. "Ughh. They're family! How can they fight so much?"

* * *

The next morning found the Pines family sitting around the breakfast table, eating (only half-burned) pancakes. For once, everyone looked more or less at ease. Stan broke the silence first: "So, dear niece, how about you decorate some hats for me today?" Ford glared at his brother, mouthing something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'child labor', but Stan either didn't notice or chose to ignore it. Mabel only shook her head. "Maybe later today, but I first want to make some more Mabel Juice and answer to the letters I received." She shrugged. Ford only nodded and turned to Dipper, prepared to ask one thing or another, but Dipper beat him to it: "I'll be helping her out in the kitchen. But, uh, afterward-" Ford waved him off, but couldn't hide the smile and bemused glance that he shared with Stan. "Don't you worry, kids. Maybe Stan and I can use that time to make some of the repairs that we've been postponing for quite some time now." Stan glanced up at that, surprised, but smiling. "Yeah. We oughtta."

All in all, it ended up being a not too heinous day. In the end, the twins respectively continued their work, doing what they did best. And one day of rest didn't stop them from becoming sleep-deprived all over again, or from fighting or shouting. But never did anyone accuse the other of doing a less important job than the others. Because:

Dipper and Mabel Pines were trying their best to be heroes.  
In their own respective way.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been reading fanfictions about two bois getting high together, like, the whole day. And now I feel like I'm high myself. Weird.


	6. Always Good For A Surprise | Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon Snow is suspicious about the lack of blood-drinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the other chapters prior: *some lection about how you are enough, how you're not alone, whatever*  
> This chapter: Idiot in love, smh

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch was in love with a hero.

And no, he wasn't talking about himself (he was a _vampire, bloody hell_ ), but about his insufferable roommate, who happened to be the boy of legends, destined to save them all. The same boy that was currently contemplating if he had enough butter on his cherry scone.

"Crowley, Snow. You're not only the most horrible Chosen One to have ever been chosen, but your manners are also _absolutely disgusting_."

Baz was in love with Simon, but Simon didn't know that. And the vampire intended to keep it that way. Especially given their political situation, what with their "families" going at each other's throats, never mind the fact that they'll probably have to kill the other in an oncoming war (not that Baz would actually go through with it; he had long since accepted that his crush of several years would most likely kill him at some point - probably happily so). The magician currently stuffing his face just rolled his eyes, before deciding to glare at Baz. He swallowed and rolled his eyes again. Sometimes Baz didn't understand what he was seeing in this idiot.  
Of course, that's not true. Baz knew of Simon's courage, his kind heart, and his fierce loyalty; he had witnessed his bravery, his stubbornness and his determination to do what's right. Despite his constant need to eat, he was also rather fit. Sword practice paid off, Baz mused.

Before Baz could continue to critique - well - _everything_ about the other, there was a knock on the door. Despite their on-going rivalry, the two teens shared a look, and Baz noticed how the freckled boy got his hand in position, ready to summon the Sword Of Mages. Baz couldn't complain, after all: his first thought, too, was to glance at his wand. But both boys relaxed (if only slightly) upon seeing that it was only Penny that entered. Snow jumped off the bed.

"Penny! What are you doing here?!", he hissed, and _really_ , even without enhanced hearing, Baz would have had no problem understanding him, "You know that we're not supposed to leave our rooms! It's bad enough you already sneak into the boys' dorms all the time, but now you'd be kicked out for simply not being in your room in the first place." Penny only brushed him off, but Baz didn't fail to notice the concerned glance she threw into his direction. Instead of fueling or alleviating her worry, he opted to simply ask as nonchalantly as possible: "What about that roommate of yours, Trixie, isn't it? Surely she must've noticed your disappearance." Baz was sure she would ignore him but Simon looked at her curiously as well, so she decided to answer her friend: "She promised to keep quiet, and in exchange, I'll have to", she shuddered visibly, "let her girlfriend sleepover in our room whenever she wants - for a whole month! - while I sleep at Agatha's, as soon as this whole quarantine ordeal is done and dealt with."

"And you agreed only so we could hang out?", Snow asked, disbelieving. Bunce hit him lightly on his arm, looking for all the world as if Snow had just offended her dead grandmother or whatever. "Of course not! I'd never risk other people's health for my own pleasure! I have", and here, her voice lowered again, "information. Important information. She got a crumpled piece of paper out of her shoe (detestable, but not the most foolish move) and handed over to Simon, whispering: "I did some research on, you-know-what. I've written it down and already wrote a letter to my dad, to ask him if he knows more. I wanted to ask the Mage for help, but he disappeared again." Simon nodded, tucking the paper into his trousers.

After a few more minutes of quiet chattering (at least quiet on Bunce's part), the girl left to sneak back into her room. Snow took the opportunity to sit back at the table, trying - and failing - to straighten out the paper he had received as subtle as possible. It wasn't that Baz wasn't interested in whatever mess the trio had gotten himself into, but this change of events had also accompanied a much-needed opportunity for him - an opportunity he currently prioritized.

"Where are you going?" The Chosen One was staring suspiciously at the vampire, who was already halfway out the door. "What does it look like, Snow?" He knew that the question was silly because all he did was walking away. Unsatisfied with his answer, Snow jumped up, hand already at his side. "We're not allowed to leave our rooms, on pain of suspension. I know nobody believes me about you being a vampire. But you won't be able to talk your way out of this one." The black-haired tried to keep his composure. In truth, he was thirsty. So _thirsty_. He felt shaky and faint and weak, and he didn't know how long he could take this anymore (especially when he could hear Snow's heart thumping the whole time, only ever a few meters away; he wouldn't bite him - never - but he was slowly driving himself _absolutely mad_ ). He needed to drink, right now.

"I suppose Bunce will enjoy suspension as much as I will, then?"

That kept Snow shut. He glared one last time at the other, before plumping down on his chair again, focusing on his note. Baz let out a small slight of relief before he made his way to the catacombs. This time, he wasn't able to hide the slight tremble of his hands.

* * *

It took his family three days to finally find a solution to his... situation.

They had sent him a bottle filled with the blood of various animals that they had ordered to be killed and drained, and placed a teleportation spell on the bottle, so they could refill it any time from their mansion. Baz was relieved because the catacombs had been closed, and he was forced to sneak off the ground into the world of the Normals to hunt down small animals and pets. It hadn't been ideal, to begin with, but after realizing that a lot of the Normals were stupid enough to keep going outside (do they have a death wish or did they actually just lack the brains?), the whole ordeal bordered on being ridiculous. Which all goes to show how utterly pleased Basilton was with this turn of events.

Simon wasn't.

"And you are really feeling... well?", the idiot asked from his side of the room, squinting suspiciously. Baz thought it looked adorable.

"Yes, Snow. I appreciate your concern, but maybe you should redirect it towards matters like your slipping grades or something else that you're currently failing in." To say he was exasperated was an understatement. The vampire had to answer questions of the sort _for hours_ now, and even if at first, he had enjoyed the attention of his nemesis, now it simply became infuriating. Snow apparently didn't care for his distress (or his taunting), since he kept going: "Are you sure? You're not feeling, I don't know, exhausted? Or maybe... thirsty?"

And besides, Snow was horrible at being subtle.

The young Pitch kept his focus on the school books in front of him, doing his best to seem carefree. It probably worked. "Why would I? We keep getting food and water magicked into our rooms, and I've never been as piggish as you." Snow furrowed his brow. But he kept going: "You normally sneak off at least once every two days. And now you haven't been gone for two whole weeks. At first, I thought that maybe you were waiting for the night, but I stayed awake multiple times, and you never left your bed." Baz felt himself blush (Crowley, the last time he drank was a couple of hours ago, how was this possible?!) at the thought of Snow watching him the whole night while he was asleep. Luckily, his roommate didn't seem to notice. Instead, he decided to lose his shit: "Jesus Christ, you're a vampire, you gotta get yourself blood _somewhere!_ It's not even like you can get infected yourself, so why would you suddenly stop sneaking off, when you have the upper hand and _are able to_?!"

Baz felt his grip on the pen tighten, and he slowly turned around, explaining as if he would be talking to a particularly dense 8-year-old: "First of all, I have no idea what you are talking about." Snow just seemed to get angrier at this statement, "And second of all: Even if I were a vampire and therefore save from getting sick, I'd still be contagious to other people." He turned around again, opening the next page in his textbook. Snow behind him was silent, and for a moment Baz worried that he had given away too much, but then he heard the other's voice, this time more contemplative.

"I didn't think of that."

The black-haired boy just snorted and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Nothing new here", and thought the conversation was done. Finished. And it probably would've been, if he hadn't had enhanced hearing, that helped him understand Simon's mumbled next words:

"I'm honestly surprised you did."

Baz would've felt offended if not for the genuine surprise in Snow's voice. It was rare for the hero to say something without at least a trace of hate or doubt or suspicion clearly written on his face. This... whatever this was, it gave Baz a small spark of hope, that maybe things wouldn't always be the way they were. That maybe he would be offered the chance to show his crush that he wasn't the monster he thought him to be. Because:

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch may be in love with a hero.  
But he was in desperate need of a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *laughs and throws page 61 at Baz's face* Oh, you won't see it coming, honey.  
> No, but seriously. This obviously plays before any of the events of Carry On, and our brooding vampire was probably a ball of angst and sass (wait, I don't think anything changed there, except that he's now allowed to make out with Simon xD).  
> Yah. Hope you enjoyed. Comments?


	7. Stressing Schedules | Peter Parker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker has a very strict schedule.  
> But when the schools are closing, new opportunities open up for our favorite nerd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a random something about how not everything is bad in times like these, and we should use the opportunities given to us if we can.

Peter Parker wasn't a hero.

At least that's what the young teenager thought about himself. It wasn't that he particularly disliked himself or anything. The problem was more about, well, comparing a big cat to a lion. Admittedly, this wasn't Peter's best metaphor. He must've had spent too much time crime-fighting if he was referencing to animals in his day-to-day activities. No, if there's one thing he was good in, it was numbers. So imagine you have a test with 100 points. Sounds legit, right? You wouldn't complain or anything, you might even think it extraordinary. And Peter knew that that was what he was in comparison to his fellow peers since he was, in fact, one of the smartest students in class. He also prided himself on not being a school bully or jock or anything of the likes.

And in another life, where Peter's life lacked one important aspect, he might've called himself a hero. For helping an old woman to cross the street. Or for not causing problems. Heck, with so much free time, he probably would've ended up doing some great discoveries in the field of science that would lead to him being even recognized as a hero.  
But Peter wasn't just an extraordinary student. No, he may reach the aforementioned 100 points in a test, but the context is what matters. Because if you score 100 points out of 500 points? Suddenly you seem less extra and more... well, ordinary.

And Peter was Spider-Man. Spider-Man was a hero.

Peter Parker? He was a nobody. Not necessarily in a bad way, even. Of course, he got shoved into lockers by his bullies or had to pine after girls from afar - for lack of ever having a real chance with them - but he was also the kid who was loved by his aunt fiercely, the nerd that got straight A's (well, at least until his part-time job as vigilante had kicked in) and if you got him on a bad day, you might be on the receiving end of the kid's sass. Some kids would actually gladly exchange lives with the young teen, simply because no amount of tormenting in Highschool could cover up the fact that Peter was special and smart, and that he would go great places.  
But if you put Puny Parker next to New York's actual heroes, like Iron Man, Thor or Queen's own blessing Spider-Man, and most of these kids would laugh at the comparison. Different levels.

So yes, while Peter wasn't thinking badly about himself, he knew he couldn't call his student-self a hero when he knew what he could do as Spider-Man. The things he _did_ do as Spider-Man.

And at least 80% of the time, Peter was fine with his rather special life-work-balance (you can see it if you squint) and somehow managed to get through his day. Peter would (most of the time) go to school, get (at least half) his homework done, and manage to squeeze dinner with Aunt May in-between (mostly when he was too beat up to go on patrol). Now add the hero-ing (vigilant-ing? Spider-Man-ing?) into the equation. Not ideal, Peter was aware, but he made it work.  
(Mostly.)  
Not everyone agreed. Actually, the teachers of Midtown High would start protesting loudly, if they ever heard rumors about Peter Parker being organized in his life (Pete wanted to be offended by this, but he knew they were somewhat right).

"It's not my fault that I as Peter Parker have so many obligations that do not fit into Spidey's schedule!", Peter screamed, to no one in particular.  
(Don't be concerned. He had to keep his wit somehow in this job, and talking to yourself was a really sufficient way when it came to feeling less lonely or as if the world were relying on you. Anyway.)  
Back to the point: Peter's and Spider-Man's (he really should get checked if he has some sort of identity obsession) lives collided at every turn, crashing and breaking his life down.

Until suddenly it wasn't.

* * *

"Yes, May! Disinfection spray, mouth protection, and dry soap. I got everything with me, don't you worry. It's not like I'm going to talk to a lot of people or anything."

May just shook her head, hands on hips, and only looking slightly murderous. "I just don't understand why your boss can just, add you more working hours! Money isn't everything in life, and I don't want you to catch this virus going around, simply for a few more bucks of money. Peter, I know that the schools having been closed on Monday is nothing to be happy about, but I am your aunt, and I see how exhausted you are, all the time. This would be an opportunity to get back on track with your school workload, and to get all your energy back. I really don't want this chance to be snatched by some money-hungry man like Jameson." Peter tried not to wince at the worry in her voice. Technically, he had free working hours, always had and always will, but he had convinced his aunt that he had to work a certain amount of time per week and that those hours were upped. That was a lie. He still got paid per photograph, but he needed to use his new-won free time to save people. So that's what he did. Even if he had to pay by seeing his most important person fidget in the doorway, quickly giving him a kiss on the brow.

The first week was stressful. If anyone had known of Peter's little hobby and would've asked him if he had overworked himself, Peter would have stubbornly refused. Which only further proved the point that Peter had, in fact, overdone himself. He had gone on patrol all day, coming home for dinner with May, did some homework until his aunt went to sleep, and then continued patrol throughout most of the night. After all, there was no time to waste.

Then The Sinister Six had absolutely smashed him into the ground. Literally. And also some buildings (if Peter was remembering correctly, there were also some construction sites and he may or may not have almost drowned, once or twice or something along the lines). Peter managed to weaken them though, they escaped, and Peter only barely managed to get come. The next day, his enhanced healing had helped him. Well, enough to move, at least. He had told May that he wasn't feeling well ("Not the virus! Probably just the flu!") so he could stay in without blowing his cover about The Bugle.

And boi did he not regret this.

You see, some people would consider Spider-Man and Peter to be foolish and reckless. And while that may not stray far from the truth, Peter was still a kid with an overly high IQ and _yes, he had a brain, thank you._ Therefore, he took his day off to rest, recover, form strategies, and well- to do homework. It turns out, after a good 10 hours of sleep, homework really wasn't as hard anymore.  
And even after Peter recovered, he didn't just run off into danger again. This wasn't a matter of proving himself to anyone. He did this because he wanted to save lives. To help.  
So after that first incident, it started to become clearer and clearer to him that he indeed couldn't be swinging around the city all his waking hours. And then he realized: He could make up his own schedule. _Hell yes._

Hell yes, indeed, Pete. Because there was no one to reprimand him for being too late, nothing was ringing at ungodly hours to wake him after a long night of patrol, no fellow classmates to darken up his mood.

 _I think I never had as much sleep as I have now_ , Peter thought (which, mind you, he still wasn't getting enough hours, but at least enough that his body was feeling healthier and less exhausted (he even discovered that he healed faster)) while scribbling something in his folder. School was yet another thing. Like every other student as well, Peter had his strengths and weaknesses, even when it came to school subjects. But suddenly, instead of sitting around for 45 minutes with only doing 20 minutes actual work, he was able to get through the workload in his own time. And Peter was fast. Suddenly he was receiving emails from his teachers at how impressed they were by his skills, and that they knew he wasn't a lost cause (again, should he be offended?).

And alright, maybe he hadn't been completely honest before about how he felt towards his normal persona, but now he had to admit: Being Peter Parker suddenly didn't suck anymore. Actually, it was rather satisfying, and he fell more at ease than he had since... well, probably since his uncle's death. Stirring from his musings, Peter clicked on the new email that he had received overnight, assuming it was one of his teachers.

> Hey kid, one of your teachers contacted us about some extra project you made, and even Bruce Banner was impressed. Are you currently having any kind of internship?  
> (If you do, name your salary, and we'll pay you double.)  
> T. Stark

Peter Parker may not be a hero.  
But damn him, he was one hell of a lucky guy.


End file.
